Bound in Skin of Stone
by Kyri
Summary: AU, Ken is a rich boy who moves alone into a new manor house, And he finds a statue, but its no ordinary statue.... *compleated!*
1. Default Chapter

Bound In Skin of Stone ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Here we are Mr. Hidaka, that's $50 for the fare." The surly cab driver said to the young man currently exiting the car's back seat. The brunette paid the driver and turned to his new home.  
  
The house was a large, old, south westernish style manor house, that rested beneath the hills of a secluded country side. Its walls used to be a cream colour, but harsh weather and bright sunlight had bleached them to a dirty white. The doors were oaken, and its windows were very large, garuenteeing that the house would never be truly dark as long as there was a source of light in the sky. The pinnacled roofs soared imperiously above the ground, inspireing awe in the few who saw it.  
  
The house's new owner however, was a little less. well, majestic. Brown hair, with matching brown eyes paired with an almost innocent boy next door look, he was truly what most would call, commen. You'd never know just from looking at him that Ken Hidaka was a famouse ex J-league goalie that had just retiered from a prestigious contract with a huge shit load of cash.  
  
The boy's eyes widened as he stepped inside his new abode. "This place is huge!" he said to himself, starting slightly at the echo's his proclamation had caused. He set down his bags and started to enthusiastically explore the place.  
  
Every room was different. One was painted a bright cheery blue with matching adornments in blue and white. That room also had almost femine feel, with a dressure and an old set of hair brushes. Yet another was a typical smoking room. Parchment covered lamps, a small bar, and plush chairs that surrounded a stone fire place, off that room was a games parlor, with a pool table, and an old pinball machine. The kitchen was clean and spacious, with all the appliances that a bachelor would ever need.  
  
There were red rooms, yellow rooms, a green house that played court to a vast garden of colourful exotic flowers, and a door to the surrounding field.  
  
The last room he found was a vast library. Books lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling with the sliding ladders that you always see in the movies. There were comfortable chairs and couches strewen about the room, and various paintings adorning what little wall space there was left. Ken walked to the center of the room and twirled around, taking in all the sights. And then he saw it and stopped short. There, in the back end of the room stood the most amazing and beautiful statue that he had ever seen.  
  
It stood alone, the figure of a man with a sword casually propped up infront of him. It was made entirely of marble, but the sculpture had some how managed to tinge the stone so delicately, that you just had to look at it. The hair was red, and the staring eyes were a stark violet colour. The flowing trench coat that almost seemed to move was a delicate black. Only the skin stood as pale as the original marble.  
  
"Wow.." Ken breathed, his eyes locked on the figure. He walked over and ran his tanned hand over the statues pale ones, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Sure enough, the cold stone was felt under his calloused fingertips. "You really are here.neat!" he cried joyously and smiled. "Hi, my names Ken, whats yours?" he giggled, looking down at the small pedestal and read the plaque there.  
  
"Ran Fujimya huh? That's a neat name, though I hope you don't mind me just calling you Ran, ne?" Ken asked looking back up to the eyes, smiling a bit at the expressionless face. "Well, I guess that's as good as introduction as any. I'm gonna be living with you for a while." Ken said, turning around, then he stopped and called over his shoulder. "I'll see you later!" he called, and rushed out back to the lobby to gather his things and properly move in. 


	2. Together

After Ken moved in, that first conversation with the statue proved to be a daily rutine. You see, he was a rather social boy and missed some of the crowds from his former life, but he was tierd of the spot light and no privacy what so ever, he was tierd of the over active fans and the scandles that the tabloids and his other team mates produced, so the silent statue became his new friend, or at least sounding board.  
  
He would talk about the latest sports, the friends he missed, the most embarrassing times in his life (of course, he only told the statue stories like that when he had sampled the wine cellar a little too much). Ken could blabber about the weather, the wind, the songs that played on the radio and much, much more. But there were some days he didn't talk, but would just sit in the library in the closest chair and read whatever book happened to fall into his hand that day.  
  
Sometimes Ken would do something completely different. He had set up his state of the art stero system in the library (which had rapidly become his favorite room) and sometimes he would just play CD's or listen to the radio as he sat on the pedestal of the statue and just lean against the solid leg foundation. For some odd reason, he found it soothing when things just got too tough. Often, he would fall asleep like that.  
  
It was late one night, and he was just relaxing leaning against the statue when the door bell rang.  
  
"Hmm, wonder who that could be," Ken mutterd as he got up, "Its too late for any deliveries." he said, as he opened the door. Big, big mistake, and he knew that quite clearly from the business end of a Winchester rifle that was pointed strait at him.  
  
"Back into the house." A rough voice growled from the darkness, nodding frightendly, Ken complied, backing slowly back into the house. He watched with wide eyes as 3 men stepped in, each holding a bag and a weapon. "Ok kid, hand over all the money in the house, and all the bank cards." One of the other men demanded, as he motioned for the other two to spread out to look for valuables.  
  
Ken of course complied, and was shoved into the library as the men searched the house for anything they could take with them. The one standing guard over him had bright red hair, hard jade eyes and was tall and lanky. He stood leaning against the door frame, gun trained directly on the younger boy. The brunette's thoughts turned to the other two, one standing taller then the red head with black as his heart hair, silver glasses framing cold eyes, and the other, white headed with scars running along his skin. Each terrifying in their own way.  
  
Presently, or what you could call an eternity later, all three of the robbers were gatherd in the library with they're victim. The red haired one turned to the others and said "Well, the kids seen our faces, what shall we ever do with him." He smirked with a sinister playful tone. It was the palest one who answerd, hoisting his gun meaningfully. "Simple," he rasped, "We kill him." With that, all three raised they're rifles and fired, each bullet striking true.  
  
Sharp pain rang through Ken's chest at each hit. He fell listening to their laughter as the raiders retreated. Somehow, he managed to roll over onto his stomach and pulled himself across the floor, but not towards the telephone, no, even if it was closer, no, he was heading for the statue. Ken knew he was going to die, but he was determined to die near the one thing he truly loved. Just when his strength was about to give out, strong arms wrapped around him, and gently picked him up. A soft, warm voice whispered in his ear as Ken felt him self being carefully carried.  
  
"Stay with me." the voice said. Ken wasn't afraid, he knew who it was. "Forever." he answered. The last conscious sound the boy heard was the steady beating of a heart.  
  
Years later, the house was resold and turned into a museum. Its crowning glory being a mysterious statue in the library. Perhaps you know if it, it's a marble statue of two figures, the taller one cradling a smaller figure in his arms, both only tinted with colour to make you look. One draws your eye with striking red hair and black clothing, the only color on the skin being a streak of blue running down from the closed eyes representing tears, the other's eyes are closed as well, his messy brown hair resting against the others chest as his hand folds over a wound that bleeds red. A sword is laying uselessly to the side of their feet, and below, stands a plaque. It says,  
  
'Ran Fujimya and Ken Hidaka, the two wounded lovers, sealed together in marble, bound forever in skin of stone.' 


End file.
